


Hygge

by BeaRyan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Echo Appreciation Week, Found Family, Other, Post Series Fic, a sense of coziness hominess and family, did I just make Echo Danish, hygge, is hygge a thing outside of Denmark and communities with lots of Danish immigrants?, look this is more of a cozy winter fantasy than a characterization piece, or just from the upper midwest, who she was before nia comes into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: The wars are six years behind them.  Echo is finally able to build the life she wants instead of the one she was given.Post series fic written after the end of season six but before anything was known about season seven.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Echo, Echo & Spacekru (The 100), Emori/John Murphy (The 100)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Hygge

MURPHY

Six years ago the unified government formed on Sanctum. Five years ago Echo and Bellamy decided to make a home in the village instead of in Sanctum proper. And three months ago Murphy and Emori left the village for one of their exploratory missions. They were finally back. 

For the first hour Murphy pretended everything was normal. It was a concession he made to his friends, the illusion that all was well and their seemingly unending string of bland days would truly never end. Internally he was delighted. He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stand a life without purpose. Echo was cracking under the weight of domesticity just like he had on the ring. The evidence was right there on the wall. Finally he cornered Bellamy alone near the woodstove. 

“So what’s with the severed head?” 

Bellamy stirred the pot of cider then leaned over to inhale the mix of spices that scented the room. “What severed head?” 

“The one painted on your wall in blood?” 

“The reindeer? That’s not blood it’s crushed berries. And it’s not severed it just stops at the neck.” 

“Tell yourself that if it makes you happy.” 

Bellamy shrugged. “It makes her happy. She says it’s hygge.” 

“What’s hygge?” 

“Something she had before Nia that she’s trying to get back to.” 

Murphy filled his cup with a ladle full of cider and enjoyed the warmth and layered flavors. It was good, as good as his. That was annoying, but it was comforting in a way, too. He had managed to give something to Echo over the years, even if it was mostly recipes. 

RAVEN

Jeff’s arms stuck out stiffly, a candle in each hand, and he stepped over the threshold like he expected an attack and if not for Raven’s firm push on his back he wouldn’t have moved him forward at all. The grin on his face looked forced, but it still made Raven feel wrapped in a certain sense of contentment. He was trying. He was a hacker from the 21st century, a keyboard warrior, and he’d hauled himself out to the middle of the woods to meet her friends. Her terrifying friends with more than a thousand direct kills between them. 

His voice almost cracked as he said, “I heard you like candles. These are candles.” 

Echo gave him a small, soft smile. “You brought gifts for us? Light and warmth?” 

Jeff nodded stiffly. 

“Thank you.” Echo pulled a piece of soft wax from a larger lump and worked it in her hand for a moment, warming and softening it before using it to stabilize the tapers in the carved candlesticks. 

“You don’t have to use them now,” he said. “I can tell that you’ve already got some going, but Raven said you like them more than electric lights.” 

“Hygge is important.” She positioned one candle on a small table near a rocking chair draped with a fuzzy, red blanket and another near the stacked bowls ready for the soup that was bubbling on the stove. 

Jeff tried for a deep breath but it staggered. He blurted, “It’s cozy.” 

Bellamy wasn’t as good at keeping a neutral expression as Echo in no small part because he didn’t bother to. His amusement travelled past his lips and into his voice. “Jeff you want hard cider or tea with a shot in it?” 

“Sure!” 

Raven winced. “Give him hot cider with a shot in it.” While Bellamy prepared his drink she guided Jeff to the overstuffed chair near the fire and hissed, “Relax.” 

“I’m trying.” 

“You lived on a prison ship.” 

“And they rioted and killed a bunch of people.” 

“Echo made soup. Bellamy sewed and embroidered all the cushions in here.” 

“I thought they were soldiers.” 

Bellamy laughed and said, “Retired. I’m a seamstress now and happy with it. Echo’s a toolmaker.” To make their guest feel more at ease he avoided saying what kind of tools Echo made. 

“You have a lovely home!” Jeff offered brightly. 

“We’re working on it.” Echo took the mug from Bellamy and walked it across the room to Raven’s terrified suitor. “Raven is family, and you matter to her. You’re welcome here. I hope when you get to know us you’ll be able to relax here.” 

“Do people ever really relax around assassins or Blakes?” 

Echo gave him a small but genuine smile. “We’re working on it.” 

EMORI

She hated that it was true, but Emori was always a little sad at Bellamy and Echo’s house. The feeling there was what she’d longed for most of her life, and sinking into it reminded her of the years she hadn’t had it. In fleeting moments in the past she’d briefly had that elusive cozy sense of home, but the adventurer’s life suited her and John better than domestication. Echo seemed to know all the tricks to lock into a place and time without losing her sense of self. The future fireplace, or more accurately the missing back wall of the house, was just one more example of something that was more of a vision of home than a practical choice. 

Emori hefted the largest rock she could manage from the riverbank and dumped it into the wheelbarrow. “I know Raven already told you this, but as your friend I have to say it again. An open fireplace is going to draw in air from outside. You’re creating a cold air draft. The woodstove is much better for creating warmth.” 

“I’m not getting rid of the woodstove. We need it to cook. The fireplace is for hygge. Toasting your toes by the woodstove doesn’t do the job the same way.” 

“The woodstove is better for warming your feet. It holds the heat and radiates it out. It draws air to burn from outside through the belly of the stove and doesn’t cause a draft inside your house.” 

Echo wrapped an arm around Emori and drew her in. Despite their height difference they’d perfected the gesture with years of practice. “Sister, my body has known too much pain to care about a little cold. My soul craves warmth, and for that I want an open fireplace.” 

The fireplace was installed and the back wall repaired before the last leaves fell from the trees, and Emori had to admit Echo was right. They could have dropped the cushions Bellamy made on the floor in the kitchen and huddled around the woodstove. If they had they’d have been closer to where the wine was mulling. Instead they gathered on the rug in front of the flames, wiggled their sock covered toes at each other and tried not to spill the wine as more than fire warmed them. 

Emori rested her head in Echo’s lap, a little drunk and a little melancholy. “How do you do it?” 

“Do what?” 

Emori gestured at the gathered friends. Their cheeks were rosy and they sat far closer than was necessary. Any one of these people would give their lives for any of the others, and this house on the edge of the village in the middle of nowhere was where they came back to each other. 

“I had a happy childhood for a while. I want to give you what I had, so I do what I can to create a place for it.” Echo combed her fingers through Emori’s hair. “Thank you for coming. I couldn’t have my feeling of family without my family.”

Murphy’s voice dropped an octave, his imitation of Bellamy, as he gestured as the group. “My people.” 

Echo corrected him. “Our family.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aside from some obvious canon travel issues Echo was midwestern. You can't change my mind. You can, however, comment. Thanks!


End file.
